


Therapy Session

by Nightlock



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 3, Far Cry 4
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover kind of, M/M, Mental Illness, Post Game, Vaason, canon typical language, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 12:42:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4877242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightlock/pseuds/Nightlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The experiences on Rook Island continue to haunt Jason as he tries to recover however there's a presence in his subconscious that won't allow that. (Rated or canon typical violence and language; takes place post game)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Therapy Session

“You’re so _fucked_ , Jason. You really think you’re a warrior, huh? You really think you deserve that ink? Do you really fucking think you can be me?”

He was so animated, so fucking _alive_. He was here, sitting across from me, laughing at me. The idea that I did it kept circulating. Replaying. Reliving because I did it. I _did_ do it. I killed him. I killed that motherfucker and he’s still right here across from me. I could feel the blood drain from my knuckles as I gripped the handles to the lounge chair. It was unreal. I could feel the muscles in my neck tense, the anger build, my blood _boil_. The warrior was emerging. He was climbing up to the surface of my subconscious and he was ready to kill. He was _hungry_. He’s always hungry, always climbing, always there. He feeds on violence, adrenaline, combat and _lives_. So much food but hardly every satisfied. He not only feeds off of the death of others but I swear I can feel their very souls being consumed by the warrior. I can feel them in _me_. So many lives, so many worth nothing more than a snack dancing inside my mind. It’s…it’s fucking fantastic. A fucking constant high feeling as the wisps of their souls danced at the very nerves and buried into the crevices of my brain. I felt it and I needed more. It’s the most exhilarating feeling I’ve ever felt. There’s not a drug out there that can touch that sort of rapture. Becoming part of the Rakyat, granted that pact-that power-was my own serendipity. There’s not a drug I’d crave more than that feeling of a kill, of the consumption, of the cycle of doing it all over again. There’s not enough lives on this planet. It’s an insatiable, deep embedded twisting of the gut that screams-demands-to be satisfied. The pit of my stomach rumbles but not for food but only from that hungry that seeps into me from the warrior. I can hear it like the clattering of steel or the ripping of flesh. It’s constant, it’s repetitive, it’s never ending and he needs-no- _I_ need it. Without it it feels like a withdrawal. My hands shake, my vision blurs and the cold sweat that feels like the world is closing in. It’s a fucking nagging itch you can’t scratch at the base of the brain. It was borderline painful. I’m stuck inside and I can’t get out like walls are closing in by each passing day, hour, minute, second, fucking millisecond. One day that claustrophobic feeling is going to break me. It’s not a matter of if it will or not but rather when. It didn’t matter either way because Vaas never let up. He was always fucking around. I can’t escape him. I’m in the jungle every day of my fucking life. It followed me like a damned specter. It’s haunting me because this shit can’t be real. He can’t be _here_ in the room with me. I killed him but it doesn’t seem to matter. I’m constantly being cornered and one day…I’m going to bite back. I’m going to kill him again. What the hell is holding me back? 

“You’re fucking dead. I killed you, I saw you die. Shut the fuck up.” I spoke through gritted teeth. It was all I could do to stop a death cry perched at the very tip of my mouth from leaving. I had control. I was better than that. I was better than _him_. I didn’t need him. Vaas was dead. He was dead. I know he’s dead. The warrior consumed that motherfucker and it was a feast like no other. I had to reason with myself. I told me self this every time and the shit didn’t matter. It never changed anything. I was alive and was dead but he was still here with me. The laughing never stopped like it was so damn funny. It was insane, laughing at a joke never told. It wasn’t fucking funny but then I was laughing too. I cracked out a dark remnant of what could be considered a chuckle. I didn’t even realize I was until he spoke again. 

“You’re angry, Jason, I get that but you bought this on yourself, hermano. The moment you thought a white boy like you could live with that ink is the moment you were fucked.” Those maniac blue eyes stared right through me as the pupils constricted and danced for focus. That stupid grin suddenly collapsed like old framework to a building and it was then the cold set in. It gripped me like it was choking at the base of my throat. 

“FUCKED! YOU HEAR ME?! FUCKED!” Vaas pulled a knife from behind him. Wild plant life and foliage starting to jut out from the floor, the edges of the walls and the shadows set in. The heat from the island burned into my skin and the smells of the jungle overwhelmed me. I was back. He was back. He was here to fight ad he could start it but I was going to fucking finish it. That ancient blade was hardly worn that Vaas held and glistened in the sunlight that filtered through the treetops and leaves. I winced and before I could recover he was approaching. All of a sudden it was so damn funny again. 

“I told you, Jason. I told you. TAKE ME INTO YOUR HEART, MOTHERFUCKER!” a battle cry of conviction with his blade drawn. The heat intensified, he was on fire. The jungle started to catch ablaze and within the flames Citra danced. A pair of eyes both leered at me without losing contact once. I could feel my chest rise and fall but I couldn’t hear my breaths. The cackling flames were louder, dominant. _Alive_. Their eyes gleamed brighter than any of the flames like their very souls were within. 

“You are a warrior.” Citra coaxed as the flames grew. He was coming for me and his knife was aiming to my heart. 

“NAIL ME TO THE FUCKING CROSS TO LET ME BE REBORN!” 

He was coming to me. 

“Jason.” 

I could feel the flames of the warrior inside him he couldn't hide any better than I could. 

“Jason.” 

He was coming to me and I was going to kill him this time. I’m really going to erase this motherfucker from _all_ existence. I wasn’t going to fail again, Citra. I’m really going to fucking KILL HIM! 

“Jason!” It felt like I had just woken up from a dream. He was gone and I was still here. It had to be real. It had to be but it wasn’t. The creeping illusion of the jungle was gone. The flames, the heat, Vaas, Citra, the warrior were all gone and I was still here. I felt like I couldn’t fucking breathe for a moment. It was trying to start again. The panic was trying to burrow into me. It wanted to kill me, to kill the warrior in me. I wasn’t going to lose, I wasn’t- 

“…and it’s not like _I_ am fucking crazy.” No, I wasn’t. I wasn’t- 

“Jason, please calm down. Everything is alright. We’re still in my office. You’re okay.” Fuck, it happened again. I didn’t mean-it happened again. I felt like a wild animal that had just been caged. An untamable beast trying to be made domestic to suit some fanatic exotic pet owner or some stupid shit like that. I could see it in her eyes. I could see that I probably looked like a bewildered, manic mess. I had to look like that because I felt like that. My eyes fluttered a few times and I realized she was right. I didn’t go anywhere and Vaas wasn’t here. He was never here. He never came here. I always forget because it’s so fucking _real_. I always forget because I can’t forget. It followed me. It always followed me. Conjoined by the fucking chest and sharing the same heart. Each primal beat coursed through me, my very soul. I’d never have a chance to be detached yet I couldn’t live with it either. Like a terminal illness inflicted I had an expiration date. 

“It’s alright, Jason. Please, relax and sit down.” 

I wish she didn’t smile at me like that. It was so genuine and calming and the beast in me, the warrior, didn’t want to be calmed. He didn’t want to disappear. He didn’t want to die being malnourished by this shitstorm of a life I used to have. We needed what America lacked. The blood of others. Here there was justice, order, laws, order. The islands of Rook had none of that, only the rule of survival, chaos, insanity and death. You either lived or died and it was the life I needed. I _craved_. I almost tripped taking a step back only to realize when I wasn’t mentally in the room that I had knocked over the lounge chair getting out of it to defend myself. The small table beside it suffered the same fate on it's side from my aggression. I was going to kill him this time. What stopped me was the fact that somewhere I knew I was about to kill Dr. Najjar instead. I would have started to strangle her and probably broken her neck with ease all the while staring Vaas down and enjoying every gasping attempt to get air. I wanted to see the moment his movements ceased, his eyes rolled back in defeat and when he'd be dead by _my_ hands. Fuck. I bet she knew it too. So calm while being imprisoned in a locked room with a wild animal. I was unpredictable and she knew it. You can pet a lion only for it to snap and maul you in the same second. She was aware and so was I. My breathing calmed at the thought. She wasn’t a threat to me. Nothing in America could touch the warrior deep inside. It was as satisfying a thought as it was terrifying. I needed to be me, not him. It was getting harder to distinguish who was who. What was the line between us? It was starting to blur. I…was better than that though. I could keep it solid. I could keep it from vanishing. I know it. 

“Jason, I want you to tell me how you’ve been doing. I asked you before and you went quiet. Communication is key here. I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me,” Dr. Najjar paused as she repositioned herself, leaning in to close the distance between us, like it was some sign of mental dominance, “I think it’s important that we find out where you’ve improved and where improvement is needed.” She was so patient and caring. I could see she gave a damn but it was too bad I didn’t. All I could care to think about is the jungle. To be able to hunt again. To kill him once and for all. 

I had propped the disturbed furniture back to its original state and sat back down. I almost forgot I was standing until she motioned me to sit. When I did I had to fidget my foot while I thought, it was a habit now. I had to concoct some bullshit. I didn’t need to be here. I didn’t need to be coddled in the bosom of civilian life. I needed to live and die like a warrior. 

“I’m umm I’m alright,” because that sounded legit, “I’m active and eating again.” It all sounded so lame. The back of my neck was a lot more interesting to rub over than to try to bullshit anymore updates on my life. Not much had changed from the last few sessions. I wasn’t lying but I wasn’t feeling better. Nothing could make me feel like I did running through the island. _My_ fucking island. She was writing down notes and it made me feel guilty. Whatever she jotted down won’t mean shit. She can’t help me and we know it. Even so Dr. Najjar looked over to me with expectation and promise. I was going to end up letting her down eventually. As much as she cares and how professional she is she can’t help me. I’m so far gone the shit scares me. I didn’t have to balls to even tell her that. Not yet. 

“I’ve been taking my meds too.” I added that in because I knew she asked me. Not so much with words but her eyes. I was diagnosed with a lot of shit but post-traumatic stress was the only one that stuck in the back of my head. It was the only one I could believe. I didn’t used to take my meds because I didn’t think I needed them. When all else failed I started them but it doesn’t work. Nothing works for this hunger. Nothing quiets the jungle or keeps it from calling me back. The warrior in me was testament to that. The tatau that dressed my arm, under my sleeve, was proof of that. I had to fidget with my left arm’s sleeve. The tatau called. I could still hear the calls of the jungle from those dark markings. I could still see everything. I could see it all. Citra. I didn’t need my mind to go there again, not yet, and Dr. Najjar didn’t allow it either way. She always tried to garter my attention with natural cues of conversation and it worked…sometimes. 

“That’s great, Jason,” she smiled and was really happy for me, “So the nightmares and flashbacks have stopped? Has that improved at all if not?” She inquired so carefully but so clinically professional. I didn’t know how to gauge it but I couldn’t lie about this because when she asked about flashbacks it was always her sugarcoated code of asking me about my brothers. About…Grant. 

“I can still see him sometimes. I can still feel the warmth of his blood on my hands. I can still hear his gurgling attempts to speak, to breathe. I still remember the moment he died like it was yesterday, Dr. Najjar.” When did it become so easy to remember you, Grant? I don’t even feel the tears anymore but you still haunt me. Vengeance…wasn’t enough, was it? 

“But I don’t see it as much. I…wouldn’t call them nightmares as much anymore.” I didn’t wake up a hysterical mess anymore. I didn’t cry anymore. I didn’t feel like I let Grant down anymore. Suddenly, at that moment, I remembered why it had gotten so easy. It wasn’t being home being in therapy or even being alive with my friends. The warrior had picked me up and whispered into my ear and suddenly it didn’t hurt as much. The tatau sung me the lullabies of the horrid screams and tales of my victims to lull me to my dreams and suddenly it wasn’t so frightening anymore. I was…okay. I will always be okay now, Grant. The warrior in me won’t let me die. There is vengeance that still needed to be paid. Vaas still needed to die because he wasn’t dead, was he? That’s why you come to me so much at night, right? The warrior’s still here and we’re going to avenge you. I didn’t realize how silent I had gotten. I felt listless from my parading thoughts and then there was concern. I smiled at Dr. Najjar because she wanted me to I’m sure. I was…okay. She knew that, she had to know that. 

Dr. Najjar remained silent and stared at me. She was asking and I knew. We weren’t finished on the subject. 

“I still remember how I tortured Riley until he passed out. His screams follow me sometimes. No matter how loud it never changes how good it felt or how guilty I feel looking at him.” It was the first time I admitted that. It felt fucking great when I tortured him. His look of utter confusion and fear. That knowledge that I had the fucking balls to make my little brother cry out for mercy. I…I was a monster. I don’t even know how it happened. Grant, I still see the moment your eyes went dead, when I knew you were dead, but I don’t even know when I became… _this_. 

“Jason, what is it? Is this not fun anymore? Have I failed to entertain you?” He was starting again and my blood was starting to boil. The anger began to pool and her voice interrupted the dangerous process. 

“You’re not a monster, Jason.” She knows me so well she thinks. I must be wearing my thoughts like a damned mask on my face. I appreciated her attempt to help me feel better but I knew-we knew-how untrue that was. I shared so much with Dr. Najjar. She knows just about as much as I do by this point about that time. I’ve been back and forth to her office for almost two years. I remember when I just stared at her and how fucking pissed I was to be forced into therapy. It hasn’t helped me in all honesty but it was nice to have someone to talk to. She judged me, probably, but it wasn’t from family or friends. I wasn’t ready for that yet. I’ll probably never be. I want to be better than that, better than him and right now I realize it was easier to say when I was leaving the islands than it was to live with those words back home. I truly am a monster and I hope Dr. Najjar never has to see why. She almost did today. Almost. 

“…the definition of insanity is doing the same fucking thing over and over and over again expecting shit to change.” It kept playing in my head. Fucking Vaas going on and on telling me about insanity. I was starting to believe it and it was pissing me off. The anger turned into fear when that stupid voice began to sound like…me. I wasn’t crazy. I wasn’t fucking losing it. I know who I am and where I am and I’m not crazy. I don’t want to hear it anymore. I need it to _stop_. I shut my eyes closed and covered my ears. I forgot where I was. I forgot Dr. Najjar was talking to me, _looking_ at me. 

“Jason, are you alright? Jason…?” I snapped out of it and stared at her. I felt clueless. Her mouth was moving but I didn’t hear her voice. I only heard- 

“…you thought you had a chance. Way up in the fucking skies you thought you had your finger on the pussy trigger, but hermano, down here…down here you hit the ground.” 

“SHUT UP!” It was a roar, a fucking demand, that I’m sure was loud enough to travel outside through the closed window and door that lead out into the waiting room. I stood from my seat and I could feel that primal rush. My fists were clenched enough to pierce skin. The desire I hadn’t been able to tame since back in America rushed out of me like a serpent emerging from the depths of hell. I yelled like I was on the battlefield and it was loud even to my ears. There was nothing left but silence. Dr. Najjar looked like I wounded her. Like she had touched fire and then she drew back quickly from the pain. I had broken her clinically detached guard. She wasn’t hurt-no-she was afraid. She was afraid of me. I didn’t blame her. I didn’t blame anymore. Maybe even I was afraid. It wasn’t a matter of if or how but when she’d be afraid of me. Maybe she always was but today, in this very moment, all doubts of if she was or was not were laid to rest. 

“That.Is.Crazy.” He was speaking from the back of my head. It was so clear but I couldn’t get angry again. Not in front of her. 

“I’m..I’m sorry. I didn’t…” I didn’t even know what to say to her. She had been revived from her shock from my weak apology and wanted to engage, continue, our session but it was too late. I was faced with this warrior head on and I didn’t know what to do with him. He was out. He was alive. I had to leave. It was for the best for both of us for today. I don’t know what would happen if he came back. He always came back and this time I was going to kill him. 

\----- 

I never carry my cellphone anymore. I had started to when Mom got it for me after I decided to move. She wanted to stay in touch, check on me, and the works and felt it was necessary even though she felt my decision to move wasn’t. I had to move. Move from everyone and anything I could still care about. I was…dangerous. She didn’t like the idea but agreed eventually if it meant it could help me recover. We tried the whole “support system” charade and it didn’t work. Like today at Dr. Najjar’s I got angry and lashed out but it wasn’t from my support but from _him_. He never shut the fuck up and when I was fed up with the taunts my anger exploded and through that the warrior would take hold and it was dangerous. I didn’t want shit happening at home. Not because of what happened. Riley though, he wasn’t so understanding. He wanted us to support each other like we used to after dad died, be there for each other and talk. He wanted us to be a team when it was the three of us. Things aren’t the same though, not anymore. Grant…was gone and I might as well have been too. I know I can’t recover from everything. I know I can’t come back to where I used to be. Not even close to that. I had been broken and remolded. I wasn’t going to drag my little brother or anyone else down deeper into this hellish abyss with me. I wasn’t ready to talk to him or anyone that wasn’t Dr. Najjar. We were all there but none of them understand. None of them were warriors like I was. None of them were part of the family of the Rakyat. I couldn’t talk to them. 

Like my mother, Liza was completely against my decision. I still see her despaired expression in my mind at times. The breaking of her voice echoing in my ears. Her pleas laced with the sadness she felt and the tears that were real when so many things around me were not. It wasn’t any different when I told her I wasn’t leaving Rook. I didn’t do things to hurt her but things I had to do. We never connected that much after the return but she still cares. Still loves. Is still Liza. Like her, everyone else has so much shit on their plates I don’t remember getting any other objections. I probably wouldn’t have cared either way. Ollie always supported my decisions though, I remember him wishing me the best. He was cool like that. Even during it all he was one hundred percent with whatever. Maybe that's what family meant to him. I guess I could understand, I had felt the same way with the Rakyat at some point. Being accepted, given strength, being supported. I did what I did for my friends but deep inside I know I'd have done everything if nothing was at stake. I was so deep in I can't imagine not getting the tatau, the power, the hunger for it all. 

I picked the cellphone up from the kitchen counter where I left it charging before heading out and it was lit up like a nightlight. I scrolled to see masses of messages. Scrolling I could see they dated back from weeks and months ago and chunks belonging to each person I tried to protect. My mom, Riley, Liza, Daisy, Ollie, Keith, they were all here. Some sent more than others and some had more to say then others. More were just checking in kinds of messages while the remaining had important thoughts, feelings, concerns, everything. I always read them but I never answered. I always saved them but never bothered to go back to reread them because it’d be the motivation to reply back. Everyone had their own archive of messages for me. I wasn’t afraid of responding. I was afraid of the response back or not getting one at all. This denial to respond never stopped anyone from visiting me at this small apartment but sometimes I don’t even hear the damn doorbell. Sometimes I’m not even here, I’m still in the jungle trying to sedate the warrior. No one understands how fucking hard it is. 

“A warrior? You? You’re back in the fucking tit of America and you still think you’re a warrior, Jason? You still think that ink means something? Huh?” His taunts never stop, have never stopped. I had to deal with the police one time because a neighbor called about the yelling only for the cops to find I was the only one here. The lady next door said she thought someone was being killed inside. If only. The only thing dying in here is my state of mind. I have to kill him before he kills me. Before who I am is completely fucked. I said next time I’d kill him. I’m just waiting. The warrior is out and he’s still hungry and only Vaas’ life can satisfy it. I grabbed a knife from the kitchen drawer and he started again. 

This time it’s going to be different.” 

“Yeah, it is.” That was one thing we could agree on. This shit wasn’t going to happen again. 

“This time it’s going to be different.” 

“I’ll make sure of that.” The knife was far from dull. It wasn’t a kitchen knife anymore. It had become the knife of a warrior. The warrior was here and he was ready, _we_ were ready. This had to end one way or another. Vaas was going to die, I’d make sure of that this time. 

“I already killed you once.” I had said it but my thoughts were in unison with my mouth. Vaas was in unison with me. No, I wasn’t crazy but he was. He was fucking insane and he had to die. Grant knew that, I knew that, Vaas knew that, we all fucking knew that. He didn’t deserve it but he was going to die like a warrior with my knife in his heart. I’ll win. I’ll be victorious again and the warrior will be satisfied. He’ll finally stop calling or sustenance. 

“Just remember, Jason,” he paused and whispered to me as his voice suddenly became disembodied, “I am you…and you…are _me_.”

**Author's Note:**

> I had to write this. I always wanted to write something that takes place after the game. I highly doubt that Jason and his friends walked away from Rook without being severely damaged. It's even admitted by Jason himself that he knew he won't fully recover. I wanted to explore that since I love psychological stuff like that.
> 
> I tagged this as Vaason because to me there's intimacy with invading the mind and that's what I wanted to portray without feelings being expressed. Weird, I know but they say love and hate have a thin line...uhh I guess. I can't explain it but maybe one day I'll have an idea for something a tad more straight forward with this ship. They mind fuck more than anything in my opinion lol
> 
> It was hard to write Jason since I haven't played the game in a long time but I hope he is written with canon personality here. I hope Vaas was too since he's so damn complex x'D
> 
> I really hope the symmetry was expressed for this fic and I hope people get what I was trying to express outside of the shipping. I don't want to spell it out like I seem to do on end notes so I'll let the reader decide lol I added Noore as the doctor because of who she was before she ended up in Kyrat. I know Willis is proof the games take place not to far apart year wise (like what only 2 years apart?) but I wanted some pre-Kyrat Noore xp
> 
> Sorry in advanced for any typos or mistakes! I always write on my phone, edit on the computer and then proofread like crazy but I must admit I'm not great at it and no matter what I always miss mistakes. I have to work on that x'D
> 
> Anyway, I hope anyone can enjoy this fic!


End file.
